Run
by The Inspector
Summary: One-Shot. Seto Kaiba is always running. His life has always been one long rat race. And the only thing that keeps his heart from freezing forever is the existance of one little boy. His little brother, his best friend. No pairings.


Run

By The Inspector

One Shot

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Disclaimer:  I don't own either of the Kaiba brothers.  I don't make money for this.  It's actually fun.  Don't sue me.  Thanks so much.

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He has never been one to run.  Running implies fear or hurry, and he rarely experiences either.  He doesn't allow himself.  But maybe that is because he is always running internally.  He never stops.  Running from his past, running from people who could be his friends if he'd only let them get close enough, running from defeat.  Because if he stops running, it will all catch up to him, and he can't allow that. 

He is Seto Kaiba, and to be so is to not be completely human.  No one sees him as such and so he does his best not to be.  He has been called cold and mechanical, but he is just efficient.  He doesn't have time to let emotion catch him.  Emotions only make one open for exploitation.  He isn't so weak.  For emotions lead to weakness and weaknesses are the makings of defeat.  And he hates to lose more than anything. 

He isn't happy with the way he is, something he only admits to himself very late at night when everyone else in his ridiculously huge house is sound asleep and he is awake working on some new project. 

Sometimes, at these ghostly hours he admits that he misses not having what other children his age have.  He pushes aside old, half empty coffee cups of his favorite bitter medicine and wishes, however briefly, for something more. 

What more he wants, he's not even really sure of.  Maybe simply to just blend in.  To be just like everyone else.  To just be Seto again instead of the creature he has turned himself into.  To turn no heads as he walks by.  To be merely another face in the crowd.  So unspecial, so normal.

He thinks of his parents, his real parents on these dark nights.  He can't remember them very well.  Their faces are foggy in his memory.  But perhaps it's for the best.  Somehow, he can't see either of them being terribly pleased with how their oldest son turned out, no matter how accomplished he is.

And on these nights, he slows down his running for a few precious minutes before resuming his pace in his life long marathon.  But he doesn't stop completely.

Because his life is a rat race.  One big, endless rat race where they tell you that the objective is to make it out of the maze first and get to the cheese at the end before the others do.  But the rats will fight each other for their piece of the prize and surviving is the real goal, not just finishing. 

Sometimes it feels like his heart has withered and died in his chest, simply not beating any longer.  It's frozen and cold as ice.  What care does he have for those who work under him?  What business is it of his if there are people who lose when he wins?  He's running, and he's winning. 

And on these cold, cold nights, he makes the trip down the long unlit hall.  He doesn't wear socks and so his footsteps make no sound on the carpet.  But he makes the trip, like a little child searching for comfort from a nightmare, to his brother's room.  He pushes open the door carefully so not to wake Mokuba and slinks into the room like a cautious cat. 

Mokuba is everything he is not.  Mokuba reminds him to live.  Mokuba is full of light and laughter while he is all darkness and power.  Mokuba is his everything.  He doesn't know what he would be without his sweet, charming little brother.  But he knows that he doesn't want to be it.

Mokuba saves his soul.  Mokuba can still make him laugh, make him smile.  And it's not the cold laughter that comes when defeating an opponent or a cold, calculating smile.  It's genuine.  He'd be lost without Mokuba.  He is his best, and only, friend.  Mokuba is all he has. 

On nights when his heart feels like a solid brick of ice in his chest and it seems that all his has in the world are money and power, he reminds himself that he still has Mokuba.  And Mokuba will always love him, no matter what he does.

So he crosses the floor, careful not to step on the toys that Mokuba has left strewed out on the floor, and climbs up on the bed next to his little brother.  Mokuba always rolls over in his sleep, no matter how deep, and snuggles his head against his chest while his small hands twist into his older brother's sleep shirt.

It never fails to shatter that cold ice around his heart.  He swears that sometimes he can hear the cracking ice as it falls and his heart begins to beat again.  And Mokuba is warm and soft, and he can breathe again.  He is alive again.  It will keep him safe for weeks.

And in that moment when Mokuba clings to him with trust that can only be given by an innocent child, he remembers that to Mokuba, he is only Seto.  Just Seto, and his only defining point is that he's Mokuba's brother and best friend.  To his brother, he's human.

And so he wraps an arm around Mokuba, yawning and settling comfortably next to him.  They will have pancakes in the morning, Seto will make them himself.  They will get into a battle with the leftover batter and the cook will check her hearing aid, because she will swear that she heard two people laughing.

Seto cradles his brother closer, like he did when Mokuba was a younger and it was _he_ who elected to chase away the bad dreams, and promises to protect him forever.  To be there for him forever.  To always keep a place in his heart safe for Mokuba to inhabit.  Because they are brothers, because they are family, and he will never leave him.  Never, never, never.

And as he drifts off to sleep, he stops running, if just for a moment.

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End

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Author's Note:  This was written in a few hours on the 4th of July.  I just say down at the computer, and began to write.  And this is what I got.  I hope you enjoyed it.

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